tuittu



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    He looked up at her, and all he felt was tired. “This is my problem, not theirs. I never wanted to have heats, and I extra never wanted anyone to help me through them. I’m an adult. It’s no one else’s job to take care of me.”

    Lydia Martin may have been a beta and proud of it, but the unyielding fury in her voice would have made any alpha proud. “What you are experiencing is not normal. This much pain and fever is indicative of wild hormonal fluctuations, and that is dangerous. You are going to tell me who you want me to call, because it would be irresponsible of me to leave you like this. What alpha would you be most comfortable with helping you?”

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    09 Sep 2019

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    He licks his lips. He knows this is the moment of truth, so he doesn’t mince words. “I want to challenge the court for the right to make decisions regarding my reproductive health without an alpha’s permission. Tubal ligation, specifically.”

    At that, Peter’s eyes widen, and he sits up in his chair. “I take it your alpha doesn’t approve?”

    He can feel his eyes narrowing into a glare, but he doesn’t give a shit. “I don’t have an alpha.”

    Peter does a double-take, looking him up and down. “You’re an omega, correct?” Stiles nods. “Then—are you mated to a beta?”

    He tips his chin up. It’s really not Peter’s business, but he’d expected this walking in. “I’m not mated, Mr. Hale.”

    Peter rests his forearms on his desk, hands folded and eyes intent on Stiles’s face. “You have my attention, Mr. Stilinski.”

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    07 Sep 2019

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    "You need this.”

    It's very deliberately not a question, and it makes the melted muscles in his lower back tighten. The hand in his hair keeps his head on Peter's thigh. “Depends on what 'this’ you're talking about,” he hedges.

    Peter's fingers suddenly curl into a fist, dragging his head up and baring his throat. He can't help his moan, or the way he's half-hard in his pants. Peter's gaze slides, slow and predatory, up his throat to his face. “This. You need me to put you on your knees, or tie you down, spank you, make you submit.” Peter smirks, and it shouldn't be hot, but it is. “You think I can't recognize a submissive when I kiss one, sweetheart?”

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    07 Sep 2019

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    “I see,” he says softly. There’s a long silence then, where Peter stares at nothing and Stiles mostly manages to release her death-grip on the no-doubt expensive chair she’s sitting in. Just as the quiet becomes unbearable, he speaks again. “You need the protection of a pack, and our help to access the training you need to survive.”

    Having it stated so baldly has her suppressing knee-jerk sarcasm and the urge to walk away. But now isn’t the time to quibble over semantics, so she nods curtly. “In a nutshell.”

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    06 Sep 2019

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    Someone’s actually replied.
    Fuck.

    I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

    The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

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    30 Aug 2019